


tower of babel

by girchy



Category: No Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28714155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girchy/pseuds/girchy
Summary: Amateur human Pau has a night. One filled with games, doors, and a lovely evening breeze. Things are bad and then not so bad.





	tower of babel

Holidays, every single one of them, are magical.

The days are made of sparkles and spices and painted with a silver sheen. But that all amounts to nothing--to the scant, rocky remains of a carved out mine--when poised against an evening of competition. The glorious blaze of the holidays pales in comparison to game night.

Just eight more pieces. Then seven. Then six. Soon, the game was down to three each and the open real estate on the Blokus board was dwindling.

“It’s your turn.”

“I’m aware.”

“Then why aren’t you playing?”

“I’m thinking.”

“It’s been five minutes.”

“Yeah, five minutes of thinking. Some intense introspection and calculations.”

“Cool.”

“Yep.”

“So...you gonna put anything down?”

“I’m still thinking.”

“Ok. Take your time, but remember, if you can’t place anything then I win.”

“I know that.” She knew that. And she abhorred that. Him, winning? Who loses in a two-person game of Blokus anyway? There should be more than enough empty squares on the gray slab to accommodate the 42 oddly-shaped tiles. This whole situation was deeply wrong and, by the fault of the universe, she was deeply wronged.

Pau might not have liked it, but she knew when to give up. When to catapult the towel over the fence and call it before any more non-expendable energy was lost. Well, shit. “Fine, I give up. This is miserable and I can’t take any more of your pitying stares.”

Aran flashed a smile. “Yet another win. I’m starting to think I should quit my job and do this professionally. I might actually make some money from something for a change.” He paused. “That, or you have the worst luck in the world. No, wait, the galaxy.”

He wasn’t wrong. In the scheme of life itself, no one was more ill-favored by the higher powers than Pau.

Away from the bustle of The Settlers of Catan, which was situated in the center of the room and granted the majesty of a table surface to support the placement of tiles (a luxury unafforded to the simple life of a Blokus professional), Pau and Aran sat tucked away in the corner. In the dim light of a lamp, Pau flipped over the board, scrambling everything together, and the pair began to place the pieces back into their respective bags before tossing everything into the box, shutting it, and placing it among the stack of board games.

“What’s next?”

\-----

Two hours and a three-to-one score later, things were serious. Scrunchies out, hair up, and backs a little straighter than they were before. Eyes began to bore holes into the board as sycophantic beasts within fueled the competitive fervor of the game, pushing everyone to play increasingly aggressively. The sin of avarice clutching their wrists to drag them to new heights, more distant dreams.

Then, everything came to an abrupt halt once that final, fateful figurine was placed on the board. The castle was claimed. The enemy smitten. Gold collected. Game ended.

Pau lost again, but this time so did Aran, so it was fine. Everything fell into place.

Five sets of eyes turned to the clock at different intervals, each discovering that it was now 11:43 p.m. and time to retire to more comfortable lodging and a safe, warm bed. Slowly, everyone rose and said their jumbled goodbyes, repeated too many times like a playlist with a single song of jovial regards.

Soon enough, everyone was gone. Everyone except Aran. That slow, lazy idiot. He couldn't even find his way to the door; at least it was easy enough for him to stumble toward the gates of hell.

“Are you waiting for something?”

“No, not really.”

“But you’re still here.”

“It appears so.”

Pau let out an exasperated sigh. Interacting with Aran was like trying to corral a cat. A futile effort.

“Here, I’ll walk you out. That way you won’t get lost.”

“How kind of you.”

Aran pivoted, walking toward the foyer to slip on his shoes and grab his coat. Pau followed in suit. Before long the two were opening the front door and slipping outside into the night air. Surrounded by glacial whispers and piano melodies, they stood: Pau behind Aran, Aran in front of Pau.

“Ok, well, goodnight. I guess.”

Aran turned around, an eye-squinching smile dancing across his lips. “Yeah, I’ll see you when I see you again. Next time. Night.”

Pau had it set in her mind to wait until he left before going back inside. The responsibilities of a good host do not end when the party moves outside; if anything, the duties stack up as the question of safety in a new environment arises. But then the bone-chilling breeze introduced itself with a graceful scream. She quickly turned and rushed back to her door. She could always be a better host next time.

Upon reaching the door and jostling the handle, Pau realized something. There would be no “going inside” anytime soon. The door was locked. She was screwed. Well fuck me, she thought. “Well fuck me,” she said.

There was one saving grace and she was not about to let the opportunity slip away down a lazy river surrounded by sweaty people in inner tubes. She ran from her door toward the street. “Hey, Aran!” Arms flailing in a desperate attempt to catch his attention, Pau approached his car, tossing aside any caution like a fallen hair from her head.

Like the demon-inspired angel he was, Aran looked toward Pau at the perfect moment. Meeting his panicked eyes, Pau attempted to convey “please don’t leave because I locked myself out of my house and I’m afraid” with her facial expression. She hoped he got the message. He had. At least part of it. In the recorded logs and carved in stone.

Leaving his car on, he rolled down the window. “Can I help you?” His eyes were narrowed but his lips curled upward, questioning but confident.

“I hope so,” she said, released a long-contained, pent-up sigh. She would grovel on her knees and caterwaul in the street if he would just agree to help her. Please, please, please. “This is horribly embarrassing, but I locked myself out of my house and I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to be out here by myself for hours, so, please, will you help me?”

He didn’t respond immediately. Pau worried even more. It would be just like him to up and leave in a moment of crisis, chuckling to himself like the evil villain he was. How dare he.

Then, in one swift movement, he was turning the key and switching off his car. He popped the door open and, in seventeen easy seconds, he was standing next to her (towering above her) on the sidewalk. “Alright, what do you want me to do?”

Finally, she could breathe.

“I don’t know. Something. Anything. What would you do?”

Smirking, he said, “What would I do? Well, I don’t think I’d be in this situation. How did you lock yourself out anyway?”

Of course. She didn’t know why she expected him to be a genuine help; she should have expected the teasing that fueled a less productive, more rage-sparked fire. “Wow, ok. Well, I will have you know that I take security very seriously. The house is old and, frankly, a wreck. Sometimes it locks on its own. It must have happened when we stepped outside and I didn’t think about bringing a key.” She could’ve, should’ve, stopped there, but she needed an outlet, if only just for a brief moment. “There, do you feel better now? I screwed up. I’m nothing but a fuck up. A silly goose.” 

“You aren’t a fuck up.” 

“I don’t trust anything you say.”

Aran put his hand over his chest and looked to her with mock offense. “What have I ever done to lose your honest trust?”

“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know, just fix this.”

“Ok, fine. Just breathe. Step one is to chill out. Nothing good will come from being too worked up. We need clear heads to figure this out.” 

“Maybe you need to chill in,” Pau snapped. She stopped, then apologized. “Sorry, I’ll try.” Pau started again. She counted her breaths, eight seconds in and eight seconds out, focusing on each inhale and exhale. Slowly but surely, her level head returned from its journey to the Arctic circle. “I’m fine. I’m fine. Everything will be fine. So, any ideas?”

Aran made a contemplative face for a moment, facing the stars as though their divine glow might shape the perfect plan. “We could always break in through the back door or a window. I’m partial to a good living room window, but I’ll go with whatever you want.” That was his way of being considerate. In his mind, he was bringing her a baked good when visiting or writing a letter to show that he was thinking of her.

“I am not breaking one of my windows. There is no way I can afford to replace it and I don’t even want to think about the cleanup.”

“Well, what about you? What ideas do you have?” At the moment, she didn’t have two-cents to contribute to the fruitless brainstorm. She didn’t even have a penny. Absolutely nothing. Like a dried-up leaf being carried away by the wind. Lying would be no good. Honesty was needed. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“Here, what about this.” He pulled out his phone and opened the internet, clearly searching for something that he had yet to declare. “Perfect, they’re still open. One minute.” He dialed the number and twisted his body to face the other direction. After a few seconds, Aran began talking. “Hello, sorry about calling so late. Haha, yeah. Tell me about it. Can you guys send someone out? Yeah, my dumb friend locked herself out. I had no hand in this at all.” Did he need to add that? “The address is 674 Cedar Elm Lane.” Then silence, but he didn’t put the phone down. “Ok, 20 minutes? Great, see you then. Bye.”

He turned back to face Pau. “They’ll be here in 20 minutes.”

Pau was still in the dark. She was like a naked mole-rat in the daylight. “They?”

“Oh, the locksmith.”

Pau’s shoulders fell, finally relaxing. “Thanks. That’s great.” She meant it. “You can leave now if you want. I’ll be fine waiting on my own.”

“You want me to leave you alone outside in the dark? When you just locked yourself out of your house? What kind of evil being do you think I am?” Rescinding her prior statement, Pau would not be honest this time. In a lie of omission, she refrained from sharing her real feelings regarding the situation. “Besides, I'm not sure I can trust you on your own.”

“Then what are you going to do? Sit here? And do what?”

“You’re here. Normally when two people are stuck together, they talk. No one has to, but it makes sense to commence in casual repartee.”

“Oh, yeah. That makes sense.” Pau looked down at the sidewalk, then over to her front steps. “Wanna sit?” she asked, gesturing to her three concrete stairs.

“Sure, why not.” 

Pau sat on the top step and Aran on the bottom. Given their height difference, they were almost eye-level with this seating arrangement. “So, how are you?” Aran tried. Pau couldn’t tell if the question was serious in her current circumstances or if he was really interested, but she didn’t care. She would divulge every fleck of anger that boiled within.

“How am I? Well, I’m locked out of my house with someone that I don’t particularly like and I’m cold and hungry and frustrated. I would cry if I weren’t surrounded by other people. Everything sucks. Work sucks. My bed is sagging in the middle so my back constantly aches. I feel burnt out and lazy simultaneously at all times and I just want to go inside my house, curl up on the couch, and watch something horrible.”

Aran sat and listened attentively, gazing at Pau’s eyes but otherwise expressionless. “You don’t like me?” Uh oh. Panic again.

“No, no. I don’t dislike you. I just...we don’t exactly click, you know?” Words stumbled out of her mouth like people fleeing from a hotel ballroom while the fire alarm blares in the background. Furthermore, she had put the word “click” in air quotes. For who? For why? It made the word fit into a disgusting sandwich, like one with rye bread.

Aran lent a small smile. “Yeah, don’t worry. I get it.” His smile faded. “For what it’s worth, I like you.”

“But why? I’m a jerk to you and you’re a jerk to me?”

“Neither of us are that bad. I think we do it because we like each other. It’s like the sibling effect or something. Don’t hold me to that term, I haven’t exactly researched it or anything. Just an idea.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” she mumbled.

The two were quiet for a minute before Aran pulled out his phone again. “You said a lot of words in that rant, but I think I heard something about you being hungry. You want to eat?”

“No thank you. The last thing I need is to have to owe you money. That would be the rotting cherry on top of this already lovely day.”

“Fine, whatever you say. Just give me a second. My roommate wants to know when I’ll be back” He typed away for a minute, then tucked his phone into his coat pocket. “And you’re cold?”

“Yeah, but don’t worry about it. I only need to survive for a few more minutes. I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re sure.”

Pau didn’t want to say anything. She didn’t want to perpetuate the discomfort in the atmosphere, but doing nothing would be worse. “So...how have you been lately?”

Aran exhaled and laughed a breathy laugh. “I’ve been alright. Better than you.”

“That was uncalled for.”

“But it was honest.”

“Fair enough. Well, elaborate.”

“I’m also tired and cold and I want to go home, but someone tricked me into sitting outside for 20 minutes. Work has been pretty enjoyable, surprisingly. I managed to make a deal with a rookie that everyone has been calling ‘The Giant.’ He’s insanely talented. I admire the kid. It must be nice to be that good at something.”

“I know exactly what you mean.”

“Well, things could always be worse. Jogar merda no ventilador and all that.”

“What does that mean?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Pau sensed that he liked having this multilingual advantage over her. Curse the Tower of Babel and all its crumbling nobility. Pau knew only one phrase in Portuguese (she could detect that much) and that wasn’t it. However, it didn’t really matter. Words continued to effortlessly flow between them.

\-----

The conversation fluttered for the next fifteen minutes with breaks at the appropriate times and plenty of warmth. 

The punctual locksmith arrived exactly on time and set to work. Aran and Pau, now back at the sidewalk, said their goodbyes. 

“So, I’ll see you later.’

“Yeah, you better be ready for the next game night. I’m going to win that one, too.” Always the cocky asshole.

“Well, goodnight.”

“Yeah, goodnight.”

Aran climbed into his car and drove away, leaving Pau to her own devices.

When the door was finally open, Pau paid and thanked the locksmith before she went inside and melted onto the couch. After a few minutes, the doorbell rang. Was he back? Didn’t he know when to leave someone alone?

Pau went to the door and cracked it ever so slightly. “Yes?”

“I have your food.”

“My food?”

“Didn’t you order some?”

“No”

“Well, I’m just doing my job. Someone named Aran had food ordered and sent to this address. I’m leaving it here. Goodnight.”

What the fuck?

Once she was sure the guy was gone, Pau opened the door and looked down, seeing a plastic bag that held a tall container and a to-go box. She brought it inside.

\-----

On the kitchen table, splayed out for the audience of one to see, Pau now had Thai green curry and enough rice to feed five small children. Her favorite meal. That asshole.

What did he think he was, some kind of argonaut? Did he have a hero’s aspirations? Obviously, he wanted to be a hero, but why? 

Damn. Now she owed him. What a little bitch. Well, she might as well eat. Why not.

She could always thank him for being a piss-baby jerk later.

**Author's Note:**

> Is it somewhat unrealistic? Yes. Did I devote the time to ensure that it could logically transpire? Maybe not. But that's perfectly fine. A pleasant story is nice to read regardless of how seemingly improbable it is.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading. Have a great day/night/evening/whatever-time-of-day. :)


End file.
